


i never had the gift of holding on to you

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-12
Updated: 2007-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 10:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8746021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Set at the end of "Crossroad Blues, angst as usual.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

  
Author's notes: It's been a few days and I could no longer resist the call of Wincest or reviews from you wonderful people. So enjoy! Oh and the song is "Awkward Last Words" By Armor For Sleep.  


* * *

_I wanna live again_

_I wanna start everything over again_

_I wanna get this right_

_I'll meet you in another life_

_Over again_

 

Sam slid down in his seat, trying to sink as far down as his heart just had. He felt cold spread through him, even as the sticky heat of the night clung to him, sweat trickling down the back of his neck.

 

He was sure, was _praying_ , the heat was getting to him. Was making him hear things. But the look on Dean’s face, the unshed tears he blinked back rapidly, reassured him that it wasn’t the heat that was getting to him, but his brother’s insanity and lack of self concern.

 

Forget that Dean had been that way all his life, now wasn’t the time to take a trip down memory lane. Right now he should have been more self absorbed then ever, should have taken a page out of Sam’s book, out of Dad’s.

 

If that didn’t work for Dean, if he was so damn set on self sacrifice and unrealistic responsibility, then the decision should have been made before his brain could process the question. But had Dean even _thought_ of what this would to do him?

 

He watched his brother anxiously, waiting for him to say no. To be that overprotective, selfless older brother he’d always known. For Dean’s lips to part and form the one word Sam needed to hear. One simple little word that could reassure Sam of Dean’s well being, of his sanity.

 

But Dean’s lips didn’t part, and he didn’t say no. Instead, he glanced out the window for a moment and then turned his gaze back to the road, his jaw clenched tight. He reached forward and cranked up the music, drowning out any possibility of conversation.

 

He’d let it go for now, let Dean cool down. He had no other choice. Getting them both killed would completely defeat the purpose of this soon to be argument.

 

Swallowing hard, Sam turned to stare out into the darkness. He’d never needed to hear his brother’s voice more then he did now.

 

xXx

 

Dean didn’t want to talk about tonight.

 

Not now.

 

Not with Sam.

 

It had been hard enough to talk about their father in the first place. To try and explain all the things he felt now…he wasn’t sure he could do that, not without hurting either, or both of them.

 

He’d come so close out there to accepting the demon’s deal. It was what he’d worked so hard for all this time, after all. To bring Sam back, to bring their father back. All he’d ever wanted was his family together. And she’d offered him that. Everything had been in his grasp. But he’d turned her down. Played up the smartass defense and went with the plan.

 

His fingers flexed over the steering wheel. Would it really be so bad? He’d have ten more years with his brother and his father…and then his soul would be sucked into hell.

 

But it would be worth it. No matter what Sam or his father thought, it would be worth it to have ten more years with them.

 

How was he supposed to live with himself knowing he was the reason Dad was gone? Knowing he could save Dad? He’d asked Sam that very question and he hadn’t had an answer for him either.

 

College boy, hadn’t had an answer.

 

Or maybe he did have one, but he wouldn’t share it with his big brother because it was the solution Dean had come to. Sell his soul and bring their father back.

 

Could it really be as simple as that?

 

xXx

 

Sam itched to touch Dean, to force him in someway to see what he was doing to them. To himself.

 

He curled his fingers around the edge of the seat and concentrated on the sound of his brother’s steady breathing. The music was loud and sent vibrations through the seat, but he could still hear Dean’s breath, could still feel it. It was a reminder of their lives, of his brother and his half muttered truths.

 

The one constant in his life had been Dean. His breath, his touch, his smirk. It was all a part of him. To think that could end…that Dean would choose for it to end…

 

Dean’s words haunted him. _How am I supposed to live with that?_ Maybe he didn’t have an answer for Dean and maybe he never would, but that didn’t change the fact that Dean was alive and had a purpose. It didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t going to give his brother up without a fight.

__

_I'm coming back around again_

_Coming back over again_

_I'm coming back around again,_

_but now it's over_

 

He managed to wait until he’d crossed the threshold of the latest run down motel, before opening his mouth. He may have seemed impatient, or annoying as all hell to Dean, but it was amazing self control that had kept him quiet for that long.

 

"We've already lost mom. We've lost dad. I've lost Jessica, and now I'm gonna lose you.” It was random, abrupt, and raw. It was also as real as Sam could get without breaking down into tears or ripping his heart out.

 

Sam swore and tossed his duffel bag across the room. Why had he even brought it up? Dean wasn’t going to ever understand it. He thought it was easy for Sam, that he could just walk away from it whenever it struck him to. Whenever things got too rough.

 

But he couldn’t. He never had been able to. Or he never would have left Stanford, not even to find Dad. Not even for Dean.

 

If it were that God damn easy.

 

xXx

 

He was taken aback by Sam’s words, not the fact that he’d burst out with them before Dean had, had a chance to catch his breath, but by what he’d said. And it ripped at his heart more than the demon’s promises.

 

“You are _not_ going to lose me!” Dean hissed vehemently, jerking Sam to him by the back of his neck. “Do you hear me? You. Are. Not. Going. To. Lose. Me. Ever.” Dean glared at his younger brother, his heart hammering in his chest. “Sammy?” he demanded.

 

He was aware of how close Sam was, of the fact that his mouth was inches from his own, that he could smell Sam and taste Sam with every intake of breath. But for once in his life he didn’t care. What once kept him from focusing on anything else, couldn’t even begin to grab his attention beyond the knowledge of Sam being _right there_.

 

The only thing he could focus on was the pain radiating from his brother.

 

xXx

 

“Okay,” Sam breathed, caught off guard by his brother’s sudden and violent reaction. Usually when Dean lost his temper a violent reaction meant a bloody nose for Sam. Not this. “I hear you.”

 

Dean glared at him as if he didn‘t believe him, his fingers digging into his skin. The stinging pain was oddly comforting. It meant that his brother was still somewhere in there. That he wasn’t so lost he couldn’t come back to Sam. He may not want to talk about Dad, or what had happened with the demon, but he was still there. Somewhere.

 

The older Winchester fell silent, no more promises or reassurances falling out of his mouth that hovered too close (too far away) from his own. He stared and waited. For what Sam didn’t know. If it was important he would speak up, would break into Sam’s ramblings.

 

“You almost took that deal, Dean. You don’t have to say it for me to know. It’s written all over your face,” Sam added quietly. “It’s hard to believe I won’t lose you, when you almost sold your soul.”

 

A flicker of something in Dean‘s eyes and then, “I wouldn’t have been gone, Sam. I would have had ten years.”

 

The comforting closeness of Dean and his insistence vanished.

__

_We're out of time and I can't breathe_

_I told you not to believe in me_

_'Cause all I do is push you far away from me_

_All I do is push you far away from me_

 

Sam jerked free of Dean’s hold. “It’s the same fucking thing,” he shouted angrily. Dean may still be in there somewhere, but he obviously wasn’t getting that this was wrong. “It’s still losing you.”

 

“Not for another ten years,” Dean argued. “Even if I don’t take the deal, there’s still no way of knowing that I’ll even-”

 

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Sam warned. “You’re-” Sam stopped suddenly. What had Dean just said? _Even if I don’t take the deal_ …as in, he hadn’t made up his mind yet? As if he were thinking about contacting another demon, as if he were still actually thinking about selling his soul?

 

Sam backed away from Dean slowly. This wasn’t his brother speaking. This wasn’t Dean, _at all_. Things were so black and white with him. Good and bad. Wrong and right. There were no in betweens. How the hell had he suddenly developed a sense for the gray areas?

 

He swallowed hard, panic welling in his chest. “Fuck, God, Fuck,” was all he could manage. His college vocabulary as present as Dean’s sense.

 

He didn’t know what to say.

 

What _could_ he say?

 

If Dean would just tell him what to say, he would say it. He would have it inked into his skin if that’s what it took. Anything if it kept him from following this insanity.

 

“Sammy,” Dean sighed, taking a step forward.

 

“Don’t,” he breathed, stepping back. God, what was happening to them? How had things gone from fucked, to _fucked_?

 

xXx

 

Dean shook his head. He knew that this was hard for Sam to get, and if Sam had come to him with this idea he would have beat the living shit out of him, until he realized how stupid he was being. But this wasn’t Sam, this was Dean. This was his decision. His sacrifice.

 

“Sam,” he tried again. “We could have a family again, doesn’t that mean something to you?”

 

His brother stared at him incredulously. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

 

“Sam…”

 

“No, Dean. Are you seriously asking me that?”

 

He shook his head again and turned away, the look on Sam's face making him sick all over. Sam wasn’t listening to him. Wasn’t seeing what he could give him.

 

xXx

__

_I never had the gift of holding on to you_

_You're so far, so far away_

 

“Man, look at me!” Sam pleaded, fear quickly taking the place of his anger again. “Tell me that you’re just being an ass, that this is some kind of sick, _sick_ , joke. Fucking _tell me_ that you’re not serious!” Dean didn’t move, his back still to him. “God, Dean,” he breathed, raking his fingers through his hair. “What happened to ‘you’re not going to lose me ever’?”

 

He did move then, whirling around to face the younger Winchester. “You aren’t!” he shouted. “I’m not going anywhere! You are _stuck_ with me.”

 

Sam studied Dean warily. Stuck for life, or for ten more years? Coming from Dean those words could mean anything. Could have some hidden loop hole he was counting on Sam missing. So later he could tell him that he’d never lied.

 

“Do you feel _anything_ for me, Dean?” he demanded.

 

If Dean wasn’t going to spill it, Sam was going to drag it out of him.

 

xXx

 

“Sam, come on man,” Dean snapped. What kind of question was that? Of course Dean felt something for him. He’d taken care of Sam their entire lives, you didn’t do something like that and _not_ feel connected to them. Especially someone like Sam.

 

“No, I’m serious, Dean. Do you feel anything for me, at all?”

 

“Fuck, man. Sam, of course I do. You’re my brother.” Sam stood motionless, waiting for something else. Dean bit the inside of his cheek and cursed himself for being the emotionally stunted one. “I love you.”

 

“You don’t love me,” Sam argued. “I know that. I’m asking you if you feel anything for me.”

 

“I love you,” Dean repeated. “If that’s not feeling something for you, then I don’t know what is.”

 

“You don’t love me.”

 

“What do you mean, I don’t love you? Last time I checked, I was the only one qualified to make that decision,” he snapped. Sam was really pushing it now.

 

Sam shook his head. “You don’t. If you loved me Dean, you couldn’t even think about leaving me.”

 

“Like you left me?” Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

If Sam wasn’t going to fight fair, Dean wasn’t going to even pretend.

 

xXx

 

“Yeah, exactly, like that,” Sam agreed, his voice as empty as his face. “If I loved you, I wouldn’t have left so you could have some breathing room. If I loved you, I wouldn’t have left so that you weren’t strapped down to me for the rest of your life. If I loved you, I wouldn‘t have given you a chance for something more.”

 

Dean snorted. “You expect me to believe that?”

 

“As much as you expect me to believe that you love me,” Sam shot back. Bringing Dad back was a mistake. Dad would be pissed and they both knew it. For Dean to undo what he’d done, the one sacrifice he’d made for his boys, after all they’d sacrificed for him. It wasn’t right. It would be the biggest mistake of Dean’s life, and he had to make him see that.

 

xXx

 

Sam’s words were like a slap to the face. After everything they’d been through, all the sappy chick flick moments Dean had caved on, and Dean’s sincere, somewhat hesitant, confessions …he had the nerve to accuse Dean of doing anything but loving him?

 

“Whatever, Sam. We both know that’s bull,” he forced out. He may have caved before, but he wasn’t going to cave now. There was more to this then Sam was willing to see. Never mind that he could be right.

 

“No,” Sam snapped. “What we both know is that you’re miserable with me. My heart isn’t in the hunt like yours is, I don’t care about stopping at bars and picking up girls like you do. I don’t even know what I’m doing here anymore. We fight, you get angry and you drink. This is a great life, Dean. I’m turning you into an alcoholic. Aren’t you so damn happy I came back?”

 

“Yeah, I am,” Dean said simply. It was the truth. There was no need for him to go in depth with those feelings. Or the pain it would cause him for Sam to leave. Again. All he needed to know, was that Dean was happy with him here. Even if it hurt to have him so close.

 

xXx

 

Sam shook his head. How could Dean mean that? Having Sam back hadn’t made his life easier. If anything it had made it harder. He dragged Dean down, gave him just one more thing to worry about. And, though he’d never admit this to Dean, he nagged him to the point Sam wanted to punch _himself_ in the mouth.

 

All the things he did though, he did out of concern and jealousy. It wasn’t that he wanted to hurt Dean, or to bring him down. It just happened that way. Like the way this conversation just happened to end with the slam of the motel door and his brother’s muffled calls.

 

__

_No I, never had the gift of holding on to you, now_

_You're so far, so far away_


	2. Chapter 2

Sam shoved his hands roughly into his jacket pockets. God damn his brother and his hard headedness. The whole fight was insane, the whole idea of him actually taking that deal was insane. Dean was insane. Clearly.

 

There was no other explanation for it. His brother had finally snapped and was living in his own world. He had no concept of reality or good and bad any more, the stress had finally gotten to him and he had snapped. Leaving Sam to try and reign his impulsive and insistent ass in.

 

Scowling he shook his head, earning himself more than a few strange looks from the people one row over from their motel room. He didn’t care though, rarely did unless it was someone that could cause trouble for them. And they’d just gotten into town for sleep, not a job. Even if they did matter in some way he wouldn’t have been able to bring himself to care though. He was too caught up in his anger and in Dean, as usual.

 

He kicked at the ground, childish he knew, but it made him feel a little better. It was either that or find somebody’s face to kick in. Childish was probably the safer bet for now. Maybe later he’d kick Dean’s face in. He was the one he was mad at right? So why not?

 

Sucking in a shaky breath he blinked back hot tears. He shouldn’t want to cry, he shouldn’t want to go back into that motel room and kiss Dean senseless so that he could see how this tore him apart, and he shouldn’t want to threaten Dean with leaving again to keep him from doing anything so stupid. But he did.

 

Underneath all the guilt, anger and resentment he felt unbelievable pain. So much that it threatened to swallow him up like Dean’s own pain was doing now. The only difference was Sam didn’t know how his pain would swallow him. So far he hadn’t run into any demons spouting off false hopes and promises. And he sure the hell hoped he didn’t, because what he wanted would be far more dangerous.

 

Part of him could really understand this, could understand Dean’s desire and the lengths he would go to, to get it. But it was stupid and thoughtless none the less. He just didn’t know how to explain that to Dean. How to make him see that he would be making a huge mistake.

 

Obviously the idea of leaving Sam wasn’t as dreaded as he had once thought, the first time had hardened him he guessed. Because Dean had known what this deal meant, had thrown it right into Sam’s face that he had left him once before and how would this be any different?

 

How about the fact that Sam had left for Stanford, not because he sold his soul? That was a pretty damn big difference. In his opinion at least. To Dean it was just another day, just another sacrifice.

 

He scrubbed his hands down his face and cursed himself quietly, the bitter taste of regret filling his senses. Leaving had been stupid. Where was he going to go now? Where was Dean going to go? Surely he wouldn’t just stay behind and wait for Sam. He didn’t want to see Sam, let alone talk to him again. It had only been a matter of minutes before Dean had walked out too. Sam had just beaten him to it for once. And it didn’t feel nearly as good as he had hoped.

 

Well if he was following in Dean’s footsteps by leaving, he might as well follow it through all the way and find the closest bar. At least follow the drinking part through. He didn’t have any interest in finding a girl. Sam was never one for one night stands, especially when the person he would be thinking of was the same person he was trying to escape. He’d be running in circles all night that way.

 

xXx

 

Dean stood staring at the closed motel room door for what seemed like hours. Shock that Sam had been the one to leave holding him in place. Sam had never been the one to leave, that was Dean’s department.

 

He left, found a bar, a drink, a girl. Anything he knew Sam would never do because that was as far as he could take himself from his brother.

 

He let out a heavy breath and shook his head. He didn’t want to fight with Sam and he sure as hell didn’t want that fight to end like this, but what else could he do? He couldn’t lie to Sam. In the end that would only cause more problems than his being straight up with him. The last thing they needed between them was lies; there was too much they couldn’t take back already.

 

Glancing around the room he slowly made his way over to his duffel bag lying next to Sam’s. What the hell did he do now? He could go out and get a drink, or a dozen. Forget tonight, Sam and this stupid fight that would never be resolved. Because let’s face it, Dean Winchester wasn’t one for feelings and this fight was all about feelings. Mostly his, if he wanted to be technical. Which he didn’t. Sam on the other hand would want to go over it until Dean threatened to end his life, or both of theirs.

 

Either way, no resolution.

 

But what if Sam came back to talk again? Even if Sam had been the one to run, he’d be back and ready to start this all over again. If he saw Dean’s side of things or just to keep up the screaming match. There would be no peace until Sam got his way and Dean honestly didn’t know if he could give Sam this. There were too many what if’s and possibilities for him to just turn away without a second thought.

 

He was always the rational one, at least when it came to things like this. Everything had always been black and white with him, things were either good or bad. He couldn’t afford for them to be anything else because then his life wouldn’t be as solid and as determined as he needed it to be to stick around.

 

Sam thought that it was so easy for him to stay there and follow Dad around like some lost puppy. And a lot of times it was. But not always. Especially when Sam had left. Without Sam around, it felt like things were pretty hollow. His family, wasn’t a family anymore. That was probably one of the hardest times for him to stay and play the good son. After all, there was no baby brother to protect anymore just an absent father that occasionally needed him. Unfortunately for him, Dean was loyal to a fault. Even to an absentee.

 

Sighing, he dropped his bag to the floor. He was suddenly drained at the prospect of another round with his brother. It was too much of a highly charged emotional fight for him to just move on to something else while waiting for the final blow out. Because the way things were going the final blow out was liable to send him, or Sam, over the edge.

 

Toeing off his shoes he jerked his shirt over his head. Why did Sam have to get into it with him? Why couldn’t he let something go, just this once? It wasn’t like Dean had accepted the offer. So what if he was thinking it over, it was Dean’s decision. There was no use in Sam getting so worked up over it. Maybe he shouldn’t have told Sam at all.

 

But no, then Sam would have really hated him. There would have been no coming back from a lie like that. It was possibly the worse lie Dean could ever tell. Selling his soul and not even bothering to let his younger brother know. For those ten years, if Sam didn’t figure it out which he more than likely would have, they could have had their dysfunctional family back and Sam wouldn’t feel guilt or whatever it was he was feeling now.

 

Then again, when he found Dean dead those ten years later…he couldn’t imagine the pain Sam would feel. He could barely stomach the idea of losing Sam period. To have to find his younger brother like that…He shook his head and swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. He wouldn’t think of that, wouldn’t think of losing Sam ever.

 

It was the one denial he let himself have.

 

Now that his brother was back anyway. Sam leaving again was seeming more and more distant by the day. Especially with Dad’s death. He seemed to be the one fighting to carry on the family now, while all Dean wanted to do was run from it. To protect his brother more than anything.

 

Angry and sick at the turn his thoughts had taken he threw his shirt across the room as if that would really make him feel better. A second later his jeans and socks followed, leaving him standing in the middle of the motel room feeling empty and cold.

 

Repressing the shivers of fear creeping up his spine he climbed into the nearest bed. He wouldn’t bother with the salt lines or even locking the door. He knew Sam would come back in a few hours and there was no point in it. Whatever could come through that door, especially human, he could handle. What he couldn’t handle was an emotionally distraught younger brother that had finally taken off on _him_. 

 

Dean shoved his head under the pillow and pulled the blankets over his head. Things were finally taking their toll on him and all he wanted was a long, long, nights sleep. With all these thoughts whirling around in his head, the incessant nagging that maybe he should look for Sam or do _something_ , making it almost impossible to keep from screaming let alone sleeping. But somehow he managed and before he could berate himself one more time his eyelids were drooping and sleep was pulling him under.

 

xXx

 

A few hours later Sam had, had enough drinking and enough of being hit on. It didn’t matter how hard he tried he saw his brother’s face everywhere and in everyone; it was the same when he closed his eyes. He just couldn’t escape Dean and he was sick of trying. He’d given up years ago on forgetting that he loved him, but to block him out completely…there was just no way.

 

Stumbling slightly as he made his way for the door, he hoped the crisp night air would sharpen his senses a little bit or at least keep him from doing something too stupid. He wasn’t a complete lightweight, but he didn’t drink a lot either. He preferred to be in control of his actions and his mouth. He had hard enough time controlling his mouth when he was sober.

 

The walk back to the motel did him some good and by the time he reached their room, his hand on the doorknob, he was back to his bitter and slightly alert self. Mostly he was just back to being bitter, but at least he was still conscious and able to move. That was what really mattered, wasn’t it?

 

To his surprise he found the door unlocked and to his even greater surprise as he pushed open the door quietly he found no salt lines. What he found was a pile of clothing on top of their duffel bags and a lump underneath the sheets that he assumed was his older brother. But he couldn’t be sure since he couldn’t see anything other than a tangle of sheets and pillows. Not even an arm or a leg to show that it was in fact a person buried beneath everything.

 

His stomach twisted at the sight. It looked as if Dean were hiding from him and from anything else in the world that would try and make him think, or worse, feel. Dean shifted and Sam realized he’d been standing there staring, his hand still on the open motel room door. He shut it quietly and toed off his shoes, kicking them towards Dean’s.

 

Sleep, sleep was good. Waking up would probably suck, but for now sleep was good. He shrugged off his jacket and pulled his shirt over his head, both landing in a heap next to Dean’s. His fingers were just beginning to pop the button of his jeans when Dean shifted, drawing his complete attention back to the bed. In one swift motion he had managed to kick half the sheets off of him. It was probably nothing more than restless sleep but Sam in his overly emotional, not to mention drunken, state took it as something more. As Dean’s way of giving him an opening into the next part of their conversation. One that he probably shouldn’t have until he was sober. But his control over his mouth was limited and he was very much nearing that limit.

 

What little of his rational Sam self was silenced when Dean rolled onto his side, curling in on himself. The urge to wrap himself around Dean became too much and before he knew what he was doing, he was across the room and pressed tightly against the older Winchester’s back. The first touch of bare skin had him hissing and damn near panting. It was a pathetic response, but it was honest all the same. He hadn’t been this close to Dean physically in the longest time. He couldn’t even remember how long, only that it had been far too long.

 

He ran his fingertips over the smooth ridges of Dean’s abs, reveling in the feel of soft heated skin over hard muscle that bunched beneath his touch. He splayed one hand across Dean’s stomach, the other trailing slowly up his side. Drunk or not he knew that this wasn’t right. This was still his brother and no amount of alcohol would change that.

 

“Sam?” his brother questioned groggily, Dean’s hands coming to rest on top of his. He sounded confused and barely awake, his movements slow. All of which was just fine with Sam. It meant that he might actually get to cling to Dean for a while longer without any dancing colors from the punch he would surely deliver when he realized what was going on.

 

xXx

 

“Sammy, are you okay?” Dean asked, stifling a yawn. He knew Sam was going to come back, he just hadn’t expected it to be so quiet and pleasant. Or quiet and sick, whichever way you wanted to look at it. Which meant only one thing. Sam had gone drinking. Oh joyous day.

 

“No,” he answered simply, hiding his face in Dean’s shoulder. “I’m not.”

 

Dean sighed. “Come on, Sam. Let’s get you to bed.”

 

“You’ve been my constant,” Sam said, ignoring Dean’s gentle prodding. “Whenever something happened, good or bad, I knew I had you.”

 

“Of course you had me, Sam. You still do,” he said rolling onto his back.

 

Obviously Sam had no intentions of letting him up any time soon and trying to have this conversation with Sam pressed behind him was not easy.

 

“Do I, Dean? You wanted to take that offer, you wanted to leave me.”

 

“I wouldn’t be leaving you, I’d be bringing Dad back. For _ten years_ \- I might not even live that long.” He realized those words were the wrong ones before he’d finished closing his mouth. Sam’s eyes flashed dangerously, the glazed, goofy expression he’d seen only seconds before replaced with a dark knowledge he’d hoped to never seen in his younger brother. “Hey, Sammy,” he tried. “I didn’t mean-”

 

“You didn’t mean what?” Sam cut him off. “You didn’t mean that one way or another I’m going to lose you? You didn’t mean that you’d rather die sooner if it means you don’t have to spend one second longer alone with me? You didn’t mean that-” He paused halfway through his rant and pressed his face back into Dean’s neck. “I just don’t want to lose you again, not when I almost had you back.”

 

“You never lost me,” Dean said, growing sick of this conversation quickly. He was tired of having to defend himself to Sam at every turn. It was like Sam just couldn’t believe that they were brothers, that Dean gave a damn about him and didn’t live for Dad like Sam thought. It only made him think of all the times he’d wondered what the hell Sam lived for, because it sure wasn’t Dean.

 

“Everything changed between us, its like we’re not brothers anymore.”

 

Okay, so maybe Sam had a point there. But what did he expect when he walked out of their lives? Hugs and kisses day in and day out, thanking God that he was back? Just because that was what Dean felt like doing every time he looked at his brother, didn’t mean it was going to happen. They weren’t kids anymore. And the kind of kissing Dean wanted, surely weren’t what Sam had in mind.

 

“I’m not doing this to hurt you. I’m doing this because I want you to have a family, Sam. Even if it isn’t the kind you want.”

 

“You’re all the family I need,” Sam insisted, turning his watery gaze up to Dean before burying his face back into the crook of his neck.

 

Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat and blinked back his own tears. The soft pleading in Sam’s voice had thrown him. He’d been ready for anger, for yelling and maybe some sort of bargaining or demanding. But not broken pleading and teary eyes.

 

Dad and Sam didn’t get along all the time. Okay most of the time. But didn’t he feel anything for Dad? He’d been pushing so hard to do what Dad wanted all this time like he wanted to make amends, like he wanted the second chance. Shouldn’t he want this too?

 

“I thought you wanted to change things between you and Dad?” he asked quietly. “The way he died…”

 

“I did want things to be different between us, but he’s dead, Dean.”

 

“He doesn’t have to be,” he reminded him. “You can have your second chance. Don’t you want that?”

 

“No,” Sam half yelled, shaking his head furiously. “Not at the expense of you!”

 

“Why?” Dean challenged, fighting desperately to keep the irritation out of his voice. Right now Sam was pretty calm if not weird and he wanted to keep it that way. Partly for the sickest of reasons. “I’m alive at his expense.”

 

Sam shook his head again, his lips brushing Dean’s bare shoulder. He stopped moving then, his mouth pressing against his skin in a chaste kiss. “You’ve already sacrificed so much for us, Dean. You’re the only one that ever did.”

 

Dean’s breath hitched. It was bad enough his brother was so close he felt like he was suffocating and it was bad enough that he could feel the heat from Sam’s bare skin seeping into his, but now for his mouth to be pressed firmly against his shoulder, his lips brushing over it with every burst of heated breath and half exasperated explanation was numbing to his senses. Still, he had to answer Sam some how. He had to focus on his words and not his touch.

 

“Sammy, you gave up your fair share too,“ he said almost shakily. “So did Dad, that’s just the cards we were dealt little brother. But now we’re getting something back for our troubles.”

 

Sam growled low in his throat but didn’t say anything, prompting Dean to place a hand lightly on his back. He stiffened at first, only relaxing once Dean’s hand began to trail lightly up and down. He could feel Sam’s muscles bunch beneath his fingertips, his body slowly relaxing against Dean’s.

 

It felt good to hold his brother like this. To listen to his soft breathing and feel his steady heartbeat, a reminder that there was something outside their everyday job. He brought his free hand up to thread through Sam’s chestnut locks, tugging gently until he brought his watery chocolate brown eyes back up to his moss green ones.

 

“Sammy, please,” he pleaded softly. What he was pleading for he didn’t know. It just felt like Sam had to comply, had to give him that shaky sigh and nod. Had to tell him that he understood him in some small way. Even if he really didn’t.

 

He stared up at him, a broken look twisting his normal handsome face into that of a beautiful mess. Fresh tears slid down his cheeks and his jaw trembled slightly. Dean felt the unshakable urge to kiss away his tears, ending at his full mouth with a gentle flick of his tongue. He felt his control snap and he might have actually done it as stupid as it was, if it weren’t for the fact that Sam had, had enough.

 

It suddenly was much easier to ignore the closeness of Sam’s body when he had him pinned on his back and his hands shoved roughly over his head, his wrists held almost painfully tight in Sam‘s grip. Oddly enough it was just what Dean needed to forget the beautiful mess his brother was. He was too pissed now to focus on anything other than the anger thrumming through him, threatening to end Sam’s control over the situation in a very violent way.

 

“Don’t do this, Sam,” Dean warned, testing his brother’s grip on his wrists. His long slender fingers digging into his skin, harder with every argument from Dean. As if by physically restraining him now, he could keep him with him no matter what.

 

Sam’s thighs tightened around his hips and Dean felt him shift above him, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. His mouth parted, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Dean,” he breathed. Sam shook his head, dropping his chin to his chest.

 

His heart skipped a beat, his eyes falling to Sam’s glistening mouth. If he had just kept his tongue in his mouth and kept up with his confident domination Dean might actually be able to focus on what was going on around him without mentally shaking himself every five seconds.

 

Sam’s tongue however had other plans apparently. He sighed. “Sam, you need to sleep it off. We can talk about this in the morning when you’re sober.”

 

His double meaning went unnoticed by Sam he was sure. For him it was about getting his way and keeping Dean alive, for Dean things were becoming much to focused on Sam and desires he shouldn’t have. In all fairness though Sam _had_ crawled half naked into bed with him _and_ had been clinging to him ever since. This wasn’t all Dean’s fault. Sam was the one that was so damn tempting.

 

“No! We won’t talk about it because you won’t let us. You never let us talk about anything, not anything important. Just quick fucks over beers, right? That’s all you can ever tell me about. Forget that I’m not just some buddy, that I’m your God damn _brother_. I’m not worth talking to.”

 

Dammit, that wasn’t it. That was so far from the truth it made him want to smack Sam in the back of head. If his hands were free anyway.

 

“Fuck you, man. You know that isn’t true. I don’t know what you want from me!” Dean yelled. “You want me to cry on your shoulder and talk about my feelings day in and day out? You want me to keep telling you how much I love your God damn pain in the ass self, how much it hurt to let you walk out even though I knew it was better for you? Because there it is, Sam. You got what you wanted. Now get the fuck off of me before you really piss me off.” He jerked his body up in an attempt to dislodge his younger brother, only managing to get an up close and personal feel of Sam. Normally he wouldn’t be complaining. Now was much too distracting.

 

xXx

 

Sam glared and shook his head. It wasn’t enough. To hear him say those things once, and only after being held down by his half drunken younger brother; it just wasn’t enough. He wanted, he _needed_ more. He needed to know that Dean felt something. Anything.

 

Apparently that wasn’t what Dean had in mind though, because before he had a chance to say anything else he had flipped them over, pinning Sam beneath him. He stared up at him in confusion, his alcohol seeped mind slowing down his understanding.

 

“What’s this all about, Sam? I’ve seen you drunk maybe a handful of times and every time you had a reason. So what is it this time?” Dean demanded.

 

Sam pressed his face into his arm, tugging uselessly at Dean’s hold. “Don’t,” he pleaded quietly.

 

“Oh, you can ask me to just bare my soul to you but if I ask you something you can’t take it, huh? I see how it works, Sammy.”

 

“That’s not it,” he protested, his voice muffled and strained. “This is different.”

 

God, different was so far off. This was about his unnatural feelings for his brother, this was about the idea of losing Dean in the only way he could have him. It hurt more than Dean could even imagine.

 

“How is this different?” Dean argued. “I’m asking you why you’re drunk, you want me to tell you everything. This isn’t a talk show, this is real life, _our_ life, and you‘re not allowed to have double standards with me.”

 

“It just is. You wouldn’t understand anyway. All you can think of is Dad, like always,” Sam muttered bitterly.

 

“Would you stop saying that! I’m doing this for you too, Sammy! For our family. It isn’t always about Dad, believe it or not I am capable of loving more than one person.”

 

“So that would be Dad and…yourself?” he replied sarcastically, a cool indifference clouding his features.

 

He winced inwardly at his implications. That wasn’t fair, but he didn’t have a choice. He’d fix things with Dean later. It was more important that he knew Dean would be there with his soul intact. His heart he could take careful time in mending, his soul wasn’t something he could just hand back.

 

xXx

 

What was it that Sam was trying his hardest to hide? It was a simple question and Sam was the one that wanted to talk things out. He didn’t think it was unfair of him to ask about his sudden change in behavior, it’d been going on since Dad had died. Dean may not be one to talk about feelings every waking moment like Sam wanted but he _always_ worried about his baby brother. It was something so ingrained him that it didn’t matter how old Sam got or how much he hated Dean for it he was going to be right there for him every step of the way wondering and worrying. Silently.

 

It was a shame that Sam couldn’t follow that example and worry silently.

 

“You can think what you want about me, Sam. If that’s how you feel after all these years, then I-” he shook his head. He wasn’t sure if Sam was saying these things to hurt him and get his way or because somewhere, deep down he really believed what he was saying.

 

Sam leaned up, brushing his lips against Dean’s. “I won’t let you do this.”

 

“Do what?” Dean breathed, his mind going blank at the feel of Sam’s mouth against his own. Any worries about misunderstood feelings gone as his breath coasted over Dean’s already overheated skin. He hadn’t kissed Sam since he was a baby, maybe every now and then when they were younger after his fear and emotion got the best of him like it usually did with Sam. But certainly not far into double digits.

 

“Trade your soul,” he said simply.

 

Dean shook his head, trying to concentrate again. Sam had no intentions of playing fair he slowly realized. They were in all out war. “That isn’t your decision. It’s mine.”

 

God, he hoped it was.

 

xXx

 

Sam glared and lowered himself back on the bed. His chest heaved with the aggravation and unfairness of his brother’s words. Dean had always given him everything he needed and wanted, and now when he really needed that to come through for him, it didn’t.

 

Furious and scared he wracked his brain for another solution, any other possibility that would keep Dean and his soul together. A grin spread across his face as he realized how simple this really was. If he wanted Dean to understand him, to feel his pain, he had to turn the tables on him.

 

There was only one way to win this and he was amazed that he hadn’t thought of it sooner. It was the one sure way to make Dean feel his pain.

 

Hurt himself.

 

xXx

 

Cold dread ran through Dean at the grin Sam’s mouth had suddenly lifted into. The glimmer of realization and anger in his eyes stopping Dean’s heart. Whatever it was Sam was thinking, it wasn’t good. He would bet his life that he was going to get angry or scared, more than likely both, at Sam’s words. Only his brother had ever really been able to scare him and he didn’t mind exploiting that fact when it was to his benefit.

 

“Fine,” Sam said calmly. “You want to sell your soul to bring Dad back?”

 

Dean eyed him warily and slowly nodded his head. “That was the plan.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay?” Dean repeated. Confusion and fear threatening to overwhelm him.

 

Sam nodded and smiled. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“No, no, no,” he said, chuckling in disbelief. “You don’t just give in. _Ever_. Not even for me. What’s the deal here Sammy boy?”

 

xXx

 

He shrugged his shoulders and smirked up at his older brother. It was nice to one up Dean for a change. His brother could hurt him as easily as taking a breath, to be able to turn the tables on him was almost as addictive as making Dean laugh.

 

“You give your soul up for Dad, I’ll give mine up for you.” Sam snorted, the irony of it now hitting him. “Fitting, don’t you think? That’s how its been our whole lives. Why should it be any different in death?”

 

“What in the hell are you talking about?” Dean said, clearly confused by his words. Sam knew he was a little tipsy, but he wasn’t so out of it that he wasn’t making sense anymore. If he didn’t know any better he’d be wondering about Dean’s supposed sober state.

 

“You trade your soul for Dad’s and I trade mine for yours,” he explained slowly. “I think its pretty simple, big brother.”

 

“The hell you will!” Dean hissed.

 

“I think that’s my decision, isn’t it?” he asked sweetly.

 

His grin widened as Dean’s face darkened, his own mouth twisted up in anger. Relief washed over Sam then. He had actually had a chance of winning this now. Of making Dean understand. And even if he couldn’t make him understand he would still get his way, Dean would still be here alive and holding onto his soul.

 

“No, its not.”

 

Sam snorted. “In case you forgot, I’m not a baby anymore. I’m twenty-three and I can sell my soul just as easily as you.”

 

“You stupid son of a bitch,” he swore quietly. “This isn’t a game. You’re talking about your soul!” he snapped, his voice growing louder. He tightened his hold on Sam, lifting him up and slamming him back against the mattress.

 

“Oh, I know that. But do you?”

 

“You’re not doing anything,” Dean said resolutely.

 

Sam snorted again. Was he serious? He thought he could just forbid Sam and he would listen? Right. Because that had worked so well in the past. “You can give up your soul, but I can’t give up mine?”

 

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

 

“That’s a bullshit double standard and you know it, Dean!”

 

He shrugged. “The perks of being the older brother. I don’t make the rules, Sammy.”

 

Sam tilted his head to the side, watching him curiously. Why the sudden change in tone? No more anger, just joking with heavy undertones. What game was his brother playing at now?

 

xXx

 

What in the hell did Sam think he was doing? Joking around like that. It wasn’t funny. He wasn’t going to sell his soul for nothing. Dean was doing it for a purpose, to bring Dad back. Sam was doing it to spite his older brother, to try and one up him.

 

Then again Sam was drunk. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Okay, so he was half way back to sober, but still. This wasn’t rational. It was impulsive and extreme; it had Dean’s name written all over it. Since when had Sam decided to follow in his footsteps? He’d always done his best to stay as far out of Dean’s footsteps as he possibly could. Good grades, fights with Dad, low numbers of girls, hating the hunt, leaving for college. The list went on and on. Yet tonight he’d gone and pulled two Dean moves.

 

If his soul wasn’t at stake here Dean might actually be proud. But as it was, Sam’s soul was at stake and Dean was far from proud. He was angry and scared. So much so that even the slick slide of Sam’s stomach against his as his younger brother shifted couldn’t distract him from that anger beyond the normal physical, knee jerk reaction.

 

“Yeah, well, the perks of being the younger brother are I don’t listen and I don’t have to feel bad about it either.”

 

“Dammit, I’m not messing around!” Couldn’t he see the mistake he was making? He was going to lose his soul to spite Dean! What kind of life would that be?

 

“Neither am I!” Sam snapped, lifting up as far as he could with Dean’s body pressing him down. “I’m not going to let you give up anything else for this family. You’ve already given up too much. If you want Dad back so badly, they can have mine.”

 

No! No, no, no! It wasn’t supposed to be that simple. That thought should never have even entered Sam’s mind! He was the younger brother, the baby. People were supposed to sacrifice for him not the other way around. That was Dean’s job, he was the older brother. He’d taken care of this family his whole life and he wasn’t about to give that role up to Sam because he chose now to be a stubborn pain in Dean’s ass.

 

xXx

 

“Sammy, please,” Dean pleaded. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t use yourself as some kind of bargaining chip! It isn’t fair.”

 

“It’s not fair that I have to lose you either!” Sam pleaded right back. “But I’m not going to lose you without a fight. If I have to give up my soul for yours then I will. As long as you keep your soul, I don’t care, Dean. One way or another.”

 

He leaned up then, capturing Dean’s mouth in a soul searing kiss. He poured everything he had into it, pleading with his body now that his words had been all used up. There were no amount of words that could convince Dean of what Sam was feeling. He’d think it was another game. But his mouth, his lips, his tongue couldn’t lie. Couldn’t fake it the way his puppy dog eyes and quivering bottom lip could. He’d perfected that over the years, knowing just how to get what he wanted from Dean. Never like this though.

 

Sam pushed back the fear that Dean would kill him for this, would run faster towards the demon because of his sudden physical attack, and licked at his bottom lip. He’d wanted to do this for so long now, the teasing touches and heated breaths of this argument long ago wiping away any common sense he may have once possessed. He couldn’t even blame the alcohol now, having sobered up about halfway through.

 

There was no way that Dean didn’t know that. He was an expert at this, could spot a drunk a mile away. With Sam it wasn’t like he even had to try that hard to figure it out. Sam was an obvious drunk. Especially when they were pressed chest to chest and mouth to mouth. It was pretty hard to ignore someone then.

 

“Fine,” Dean growled against Sam’s mouth, biting harshly at his lips. His tongue offering one gentle caress of sweetness before being replaced by teeth and pressure.

 

Sam whimpered but refused to give in. Just happy that Dean was letting this happen instead of punching his face in or shoving him to the floor like he’d feared so many times before. Fine he could kiss Dean all he wanted or fine he wouldn’t sell his soul? Either one sent his heart rocketing up into his throat all over again.

 

xXx

 

Dean’s surprise was swallowed by Sam’s eager mouth. He’d imagined this for years, since his younger geeky brother had turned sixteen and had begun to really develop. Sam had always been good looking with his puppy dog eyes and heart wrenching smile; that wasn’t what drew Dean to him. It had never been about looks. He’d never even so much as looked at another guy. It was the fact that his younger brother was growing into a man. And one that Dean knew he could be more than proud of.

 

Of course Sam’s growing into a man didn’t stop him from being emotional and sometimes down right annoying, but that was just a part of his charm much to Dean’s dismay. He found himself being even more protective than usual, which was crazy. His brother’s growing up should have helped him to ease off, no longer the sweet faced five year old that spread his arms wide out to be held whenever Dean looked his way.

 

It was a late summer afternoon in some small Texan town when he looked over at Sam and realized that he couldn’t see that sweet faced five year old anymore. Instead he saw the tall, able-bodied sixteen year old he was. Dean could still remember it clearly, the exact moment he’d realized he was _in love_ with Sam.

 

They’d been walking back to the motel room, both tired from a long and finally finished job. Dad was already in their room, having impatiently left the two exhausted boys in the Impala. He had glanced over at Sam to find his face down turned and in a sour pout. He’d been like that more and more the past few weeks and it was tearing the hell out of Dean’s heart. Noticing the pool a few steps ahead and hoping it would have the desired effect, instead of a screaming match Sam was so good at starting, he’d given him a sharp shove.

 

Sam’s arms had flailed wildly at first, startled that he had suddenly lost his balance and then he’d just given in and let himself fall. It had been pretty obvious why Dean had shoved him. Managing to avoid most of the splashing water, he’d crouched down by the pool and grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief as he waited for Sam to break the surface.

 

**Sam’s laughter reached his ears first, relief flooding his senses. He lifted his eyes to his younger brother in time to see him throw his head back and shake his bangs out of his eyes, sending water flying everywhere. It’d been a while since they’d gotten the chance to just be brothers and he wasn’t going to waste a second of it.**

**“Dean!” he yelled accusingly, his face now scrunched up in mock anger. The mischief sparkling in his own eyes reflected in the youngest Winchester’s.**

**“Come on, Sammy,” Dean teased. “I was just playing.”**

**He stood up out of the water, stretching his tense muscles. “Just playing,“ he mocked.**

**Dean’s heart clenched and his breath caught in his throat. Was this really his baby brother he was looking at now? Water dripping down his chest, a smirk gracing his usually innocent face, an almost predatory look in his eyes. He would say later that the reason Sam had gotten him was because he was so thrown off by his own thoughts. His stomach still laying at his feet.**

**Sam’s lips parted, his tongue lapping up the water droplets that had landed on his full mouth. He shook his head again, his bangs too long to stay out of his eyes for long. Dean watched him move closer; lean, muscled body drawing his full attention.**

**Before he knew what was happening, he was sucking water into his lungs and sputtering in frantic shock. He shot up out of the water, gasping for air. What the hell was his problem? How had he not seen that coming? It wasn’t as if Sam had really tried to hide his intentions, that wasn’t Sam’s idea of fun. He liked you to know it was coming and that there was nothing you could do about it.**

**Boy would he love how Dean felt now if he knew.**

**Sam snorted in disbelief and splashed him. “Come on, Dean,” he snickered. “I was just playing.”**

**“Just playing?” Dean gasped, sucking sweet air into his lungs. “That’s what you call just playing?”**

**He rolled his eyes and nodded. “Pretty much.”**

**Those were the last words Sam said before he found himself being dunked under water once more, Dean’s hands tangled in his hair. He struggled to break free of Dean’s hold, thrashing wildly. His water logged clothes were making his actions more difficult, but he kept at it to much to Dean’s surprise. He’d expected Sam to cave or beg his way free, not keep fighting until he drowned. He should have know his stubborn ass wouldn’t play fair.**

**Hesitating a moment longer he tugged Sam out of the water and put him in a headlock. Laughing Sam pulled uselessly at Dean’s arms. “Dean,” he whined. “Let go.”**

**“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean teased, his voice thoughtful. “I kinda like you here.”**

**Sam licked his arm, “How about now?”**

**“Dude,” he laughed, releasing him quickly. “That was not fair.”**

**His brother shrugged and swam backwards. “Who said we were playing fair?”**

**Ah, that was so true. They hadn’t laid down any rules and that was just how Dean liked it. He swam forward, smirking at Sam. If he thought that was going to work to his advantage he was sorely mistaken. Sam dodged to his right and then quickly back to his left, trying to dodge him. His next attempt was pretty good and his next even better, but in the end Dean had him pinned back against the pool wall with no escape.**

**Breathing hard he did his best to keep Sam from noticing his shaking arms. His younger brother’s head was tilted back, panting as he grinned up at him. Dean returned the grin and tried to remind himself that this couldn’t happen. That it wouldn’t happen because he was the only one screwed up enough to feel what he was feeling.**

**Sam’s arms came up then, draping over his shoulders, his hands locking behind Dean’s neck. He closed the distance between them, skin sliding against skin. Dean gasped and jerked back to find Sam’s grip too tight to move. Sam’s grin disappeared for the briefest of seconds before returning in full force. And suddenly he forgot what oxygen felt like.**

 

Dad had walked up then, eyeing them warily. Sam had just rolled his eyes and turned to face their father better, one arm still wrapped around him. Dean hadn’t had the heart to look Dad in the eyes and had instead watched the sun reflect off the water. He hadn’t looked at either of the other Winchesters for the next week. Falling in love with your younger brother could do that to you.

 

“Fine,” Dean repeated softly. There really was no turning his back on Sam or what he wanted. Even if it meant ripping them apart.

 

xXx

 

“Fine what?” he panted, the coppery taste of blood mingling with the unique taste of Dean. His own tongue swept out to gather those tastes and to soothe the sting he knew his words had delivered.

 

“You win,” his older brother bit out between kisses. “You always win.”

 

Satisfied and relieved by Dean’s words he threaded his fingers through his brother’s short hair and kissed him back with bruising force to match the fingers digging into his skin. Dean growled but kissed him back, one hand cupping the back of his neck.

 

“Thank you,” Sam breathed, pulling back just long enough to see Dean’s eyes. He knew he was angry, but he would get over it. Wouldn’t he? The flash of anger in his eyes said otherwise. It wasn’t an anger that could be kissed or fucked away, it wasn’t even truly anger now but pure hate.

 

He hated Sam for being able to control him, for using him to get his way once more. He thought he was being unfair, that to threaten his own life was a low blow. He thought that he was still in the right.

 

Sam’s heart sank and his stomach dropped. No, this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Dean was supposed to give up because he really wanted this, because he was scared. Sam’s kisses should have soothed him, his touch making him ache for something deeper. Instead he was hateful and loving at once. Kisses and hateful glares.

 

Dean delivered a final rough kiss and dropped his head on Sam’s shoulder. He sank into the bed, letting Dean’s weight crush him. This wasn’t how he wanted to win, with broken pleads and reluctant acceptance after being black mailed and kissed into submission. He wanted Dean to understand him, he wanted Dean to want to stay with him. To realize that ten years could never be enough for him, for either of them.

 

His victory was hollow and cold. Dean’s obvious resentment leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. His vicious kisses and bruising hold the only relief he found in his brother’s resentment. This wasn’t what he wanted, not at all. He hadn’t expected Dean to hate him for this, only to break finally. But he hadn’t broken. Sam had broken. Dean had caved. They’d both lost.


End file.
